Blue paint Johnlock one-shot
by SundayDutchess
Summary: Sherlock wants to repaint his room, which has consequences.


"John! I need paint. Go get some."

John didn't even look up from his paper. He knew Sherlock to the core, and Sherlock knew that John wasn't going to do anything when Sherlock barked orders at him. Those days were over. He heard a loud sigh, far louder than necessary.

"John, I'd like to paint my room. I can't think anymore. I need a new colour on my walls. Will you please go to the store and buy me some paint?"

Sherlock was still in his favourite dressing gown, wearing only underwear underneath it. It didn't bother John anymore. In the beginning, at the very start of their… partnership, Sherlock didn't seem to have privacy. He didn't mind wandering around the flat completely naked. In the beginning, John would tell him to put on some clothes, but he learned how to live with it and knew that Sherlock wasn't going to put on clothes anyway. It surprised John that Sherlock had bothered to put on underwear. Maybe Sherlock had actually listened to John when he had told him he felt uncomfortable with Sherlock being completely naked, so if Sherlock would please at least put some underwear on.

"You're painting your room? And is there any reason in particular as to why you can't go and get it yourself?"

"I'd have to put on my trousers."

"You wouldn't have so much trouble if you just put on some regular jeans and a t shirt. You don't always have to dress formal. It takes a lot of effort, so if you don't, you could go to the store yourself." John stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm not wearing jeans." Sherlock spat.

"Why not?"

"That's your department. You wear jeans, I wear formal clothes. Now, please, will you get me some paint?"

John frowned. He thought it over for a few moments.

"Only if you come with me. I'd like to accompany you, but I'm not going out to buy your paint."

Sherlock pouted. Then he sighed again, knowing he wasn't going to win this time.

"Fine." He sauntered back to his room to get dressed. John chuckled to himself and returned to his paper.

~

"Ready to go?" Sherlock called, not stopping to actually check whether John was ready to go. John would follow anyway. John grabbed his wallet from the coffee table and ran after Sherlock. They went downstairs, still zipping zippers and knotting scarves around their necks. Completely unnecessary, as the day was hot. The sun shone from the sky, but the heat didn't seem to bother Sherlock. John just felt more comfortable wearing a jacket, so they looked rather odd, compared to the people in the streets wearing t shirts and shorts, or summer dresses. Sherlock leaped forward, noticing a cab passing through the street. He got it's attention just in time. He was settled in the backseat already when John came in.

"Where to?" The cabbie asked. John kept quiet. Sherlock always directed the cabs. Sherlock looked at him questioningly. It took John a moment to realise that Sherlock probably didn't even know where to buy paint. John instructed the cabbie and they took off.

~

John paid the cabbie and they went in the store. The weather forecast sounded through the speakers of the store. It announced that the day was just starting to heat up.

John got a shopping cart while Sherlock looked up at the signs to find paint. After he had decided that they needed to be at aisle nine, he motioned for John to come to him. John obeyed immediately and as soon as he had reached Sherlock, Sherlock stepped into the cart. John raised his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?" He asked suspiciously.

"I'm not walking. Takes me too much effort." Sherlock pointed out. "Besides, kids get to do that, I never got to do that, so life owes me one, right?" Sherlock beamed up at John. John rolled his eyes, then he chuckled.

"Faster John!" Sherlock yelled. John put his legs into motion and ran through the store with Sherlock Holmes in his shopping cart. Sherlock practically squealed with delight and John went faster. They almost crashed into a pile of packets with glue, but John managed to miss it. People jumped out of the way everywhere, causing Sherlock to point and laugh. People shot them looks, but neither of them cared. They ended up at aisle nine, noticing the cans of paint. John threw his weight back, stopping them suddenly. Sherlock was almost catapulted out of the cart, but managed to get a hold of himself. He eyed John questioningly, then noticed the paint.

"What colour would you like?" John asked.

"Different colours. Blue. And purple. And pink." Sherlock informed him. John shook his head.

"No, nope, sorry, that's not… No, those colours don't mix. They're utterly wrong. How about different shades of blue, and you can paint figures on the walls with different paint?"

Sherlock frowned, then his face relaxed.

"Yes, good. That's good." Sherlock nodded.

"Go get them, tiger!" John encouraged. Sherlock randomly tossed four shades of blue, two cans each, in the cart. Then he went to the yellow paint and got two shades. He tossed them in the cart, then he looked a bit sad.

"What? What's wrong?" John asked.

"I don't fit in the cart now…" Sherlock admitted.

"Nonsense." John said. He stacked the cans on the side so Sherlock could sit again.

"Oh, right." Sherlock said. He smiled again. He hopped in again, having to fold his long legs a lot more than previously.

"Ready?" John whispered in Sherlock's ear, having to lean forward so far the bar stabbed in his chest.

"Yes." Sherlock breathed.

John ran, ran through the store. Racing five victory laps before his legs burned, and he made his way towards the cash register.

There was a queue for the manned one, no one went to the pin-and-chip machine. John joined the queue.

"Why aren't we going to the machine?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I don't want to have a row again." John stated.

"Oh, right." Sherlock grinned, recalling John's accident

~

"So, let's get started. Will you help me, John?" Sherlock asked, knowing the answer but asking the question anyway. John seemed to like it when Sherlock asked him neatly, although there was no need for him to ask it…

"Yeah, sure." John said. "Let me just change."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to get paint all over my clothes."

"Oh, right." Sherlock blew air out of his mouth. He opened a few windows, as 221b was sweltering hot. It stayed that hot, as the air outside was almost as hot as inside.

Sherlock carried the shopping bags to his room and shoved the furniture to one side of the room. He looked around, deciding where to paint which paint. He decided that the wall adjacent to his bed should be lightest colour blue, the opposite one a bit darker, the right one the darkest and the last one a bit lighter. He unwrapped the brushes one by one and John came walking into the room. He was dressed in a white, plain T shirt and old jeans, already stained with paint marks. Sherlock was still dressed in his suit.

"You're not going to change your clothes?" John asked him.

"Don't have anything besides suits. This is the oldest one." Sherlock muttered.

"Ah, no. You are not painting in that. Here, you can have a T shirt of mine and you're going to have to paint in your underwear. You wouldn't fit in mine with those longs legs of yours."

John went out to get him a shirt while Sherlock stripped to his underwear. John came back and handed Sherlock the shirt. Sherlock hesitated, then handed it back.

"I don't need it. It's too hot." Sherlock stated.

"So you're going to paint your room in your underwear?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. Problem?"

"Not at all." John smiled. They opened the cans and started painting. Sherlock had paused for a moment to plug his iphone in a speaker he'd recently bought and he filled the room with the most beautiful piano music.

"Not the violin?"

"Ludovico Einaudi. Hang on… Yes, there it is. Piano and violin." Sherlock grinned.

"Ah, right." John smiled. "It is hot, isn't it?" He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"You know, it actually helps not being clothed."

"Right." John hesitated. Then he pulled his shirt over his head. Sherlock took in the rare sight of John's upper body, naked. The scar on his shoulder, light blond hairs tracing from his belly button to…

Sherlock swallowed hard. He didn't think John noticed.

They continued to paint in silence. They listened to Ludovico playing the piano softly. Primavera, it registered in Sherlock's head. John wouldn't recognize it. He preferred to listen to jazz music.

John was still sweating, and wanting to take off his trousers as well.

"Why don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"What's stopping you from taking your trousers off too?" Sherlock asked him.

"I… it's just that… I can't… I've got…" John stuttered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough." John pulled his trousers down, revealing bright, red boxers. Sherlock found himself staring more than usual, before turning his gaze back to the wall, which seemed to be a great effort. Every detail of John's body was visible through the boxers. He swallowed harder this time. God, he had to learn to control this. Really, he was the master of emotions, never letting them rule his head, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't know anything anymore. He let his emotions rule his head, and they went straight to his crotch. Fuck.

"I know, ridiculous, isn't it? Was a present of… What's her name… God. Er… Oh, right, Laura, that's it. Or was it Lara?"

Sherlock hummed in agreement, not concentrating on what he said. He pulled himself back together.

"Er… I don't think it's ridiculous. They're boxers. Nothing ridiculous about it…" He muttered.

"Thanks, I guess. It's not as reassuring as I hoped, though." He put a goofy grin on his face. The music suddenly changed from soft piano notes, to:

_I love you,  
from the bottom of my heart.  
That's not gonna change,  
but things look grim  
When I am watching you watch him_

I give you the best a man can hope to give  
But I'm not feeling brave  
Chances are slim  
When I am watching you watch him

oh what's left to le-?  


"What's this for music? Since when do you listen to something like this?" John asked, amazed, bewildered, confused.

"Er, it's nothing." Sherlock leapt to the speaker and the music returned to piano notes.

"Ah, your taste in music changing?" John smiled to himself. They were almost done with the second wall now.

"No, it's just something… It's for a case." Sherlock said hastily.

"Ah, somehow, I highly doubt that, 'Lock."

"As you wish." Sherlock snapped.

"Sorry, sorry. Look, I'm the one with red boxers, you're the one with music that is perfectly normal. For a teenage girl." John erupted in laughter. It slowly turned to an embarrassing set of giggles, making Sherlock laugh too. Sherlock took his brush and wiped it over John's face. It took a while for John to register what happened. He stared at Sherlock, dumbstruck, and Sherlock immediately regretted the action. Then John smiled and wiped his own brush over his entire chest.

"Oh, here, let me…" John muttered. He slowly moved the brush up to Sherlock's face. Sherlock eyed him suspiciously, he head moving back a little.

"Relax, you've done my face too. I'm not going to kill you." John soothed.

"Fine." Sherlock leaned in and John planted two strokes under each eye.

"Now you're an Indian. Oh, Native American." John giggled. Sherlock smiled. Then he raised the brush next to his head, threateningly.

"I'll get you."

"No you won't!" John turned on his heel and ran. His sturdy legs were no match to Sherlock's long elegant legs, which swiftly turned every corner, and his head calculating every move John could possibly make. And so they ran through 221b in their underwear, painted blue. Sherlock let John get away about five times before he cornered John in a corner. He quickly had John's wrists pinned to the wall above his head and in the other hand the blue brush. John shook his head, tilting it away from the brush. Sherlock placed the brush on the sensitive spot behind John's ear, causing him to shudder. He slowly let the brush glide down John body, over his nipple, down the well-trained muscles. Yes, John had a body to die for. A bit short, but he liked it that way. John stayed still, too mesmerized by the brush to even consider running away. He could, Sherlock didn't hold him tight. Sherlock even thought John would keep his hands above his head if Sherlock let go. But he wasn't taking chances.

He let the brush slide further, and when the paint was threatening to pause the thick, blue line running from John's ear to the point where the brush was now, about 10 inches above the waistband of John's boxers, Sherlock flipped it to the other side of the brush, letting John feel the sensation of the cold, moist paint. John shuddered again. Sherlock turned his gaze from the brush to John's eyes. John looked at him, fearful, but trusting. He trusted Sherlock, although he didn't know where this was going. For a moment, Sherlock was touched, but that thought was quickly replaced by the brush, reaching the boxers. With his long, violin-trained fingers, he held the brush with his thumb, index finger and middle finger, while he pulled the boxers away with the remaining two. He let the brush slide into the boxers, painting John's hip. With his eyes, he sought permission. John didn't stop him, John didn't push him away, John didn't scream, John didn't yell. Of course not. John was John. John was his John, although he didn't know it himself yet.

He moved the brush sideways. John tensed. Sherlock turned his gaze down, noticing the growing bulge in John's underwear. He knew his was exactly the same. He vaguely wondered about the consequences of painting John's private parts. Then again, he couldn't stop now anyway. His eyes met John's again. John looked at him… pleadingly. Sherlock leaned forward, his forehead now touching John's. John closed his eyes, let a breath escape his lips, and lunged forward. His lips crushed against Sherlock's, hungry, pleadingly, begging for him. Sherlock was partly taken by surprise, unable to move. That's when John noticed. That's when John took his chance. He freed himself from Sherlock's grasp and took over. He pushed Sherlock onto the couch which was luckily near them. Their body's crashed together and they moved so hungry, so full of lust, pent up frustration… John broke away far too soon. He pushed himself up on Sherlock's body. Sherlock panicked. What had he done wrong? Wasn't he… Oh.

John held up the knife they used for opening letters, the knife he had used this morning to open the tax letters, which had been lying on the coffee table until now. He carefully put the knife between Sherlock's ghost-like white skin and his briefs, and cut it off. He repeated it on the other side, quickly and delicately, yet his actions were drained with lust. Sherlock length sprang free, grateful for the sudden space. He let out a little moan, hoping John hadn't heard him. John tossed the knife back onto the coffee table and pulled his own boxers down to his knees. He nested himself between Sherlock's legs. He removed the remains of Sherlock's underwear and tossed it aside. He didn't know where it ended up, he'd find it soon enough. He went back to Sherlock's perfect lips, kissing them, biting them, sucking them. He slowly slid his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth, moaning at the friction of their two members writhing against each other.

"Hmpf.." Sherlock vibrated against John's lips.

"Were you going to say something?" John asked, looking at him deviously.

"Yeah, I.. I uh… I lov-"

"Don't." John shushed him. Sherlock opened his eyes wide, but his panic was interrupted my John's hot, wet tongue sliding in his mouth, their tongues dancing elegantly around each other. The elegance was soon replaced by rough, needy moves, displaying their need for each other. John suddenly bucked into Sherlock and a loud moan elicited from his lips.

"God, Sherlock.." John moaned. Sherlock's hands made their way down from John's broad shoulders down his back and cupped his buttocks. John kissed the corner of Sherlock's mouth lightly, then placed gentle kisses, slowly and delicately, on his jaw, up to the soft area behind his ear. Sherlock moaned and writhed, aching for John.

"Patience." John whispered in Sherlock's ear.

"C-can't." Sherlock moaned.

"Ssht, be a good boy for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock bucked into John's hips fiercely, sending shivers through John's entire body. John's back arched, he closed his eyes, recovering from the fierce shocks that were sent down to his crotch. Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile.

"You're going to regret that." John panted in his ear.

"Oh please, feel free to mutilate me…" Sherlock hissed.

"I know.." John panted. John fingers trailed a path between Sherlock's thighs, slowly and teasingly. John leaned in and kissed the V in Sherlock's neck. Sherlock arched up from the couch, screaming John's name. John continued to trail his kisses down Sherlock's body, his hands moving upwards, teasing Sherlock's nipples. His lips finally reached the soft, dark brown hair below his belly button, leading to his destination, which was wide open, exposed.

"Oh, the things I could do to you…" John resonated against Sherlock's flawless skin.

"Do it…" Sherlock asked, throwing his head back against the pillow in the corner of the couch.

"Why not wait just a little longer?"

"No!" Sherlock protested.

"Why not?" John purred. Sherlock panted, searching for words in his compromised mind.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Beg." John stated.

"Beg? ME?" Sherlock spat. John lazily drew a circle around Sherlock's fully erect cock, causing Sherlock to yelp.

"Yes, you." John said. Sherlock panted for a few moments.

"Please, John. Please."

"What?"

"Please, do things to me. Please." Sherlock bit his lip, only resulting in John being more turned on than ever.

"Would you like me to set you free? To release you?" His hand suddenly yanked upward, sending a shot of pain through Sherlock. He screamed.

"Please!"

"Good." John purred. He flicked his tongue over the head over Sherlock's penis. Sherlock moaned again.

"Please!"

John took Sherlock entirely in his mouth, moving up and down. It barely registered in his head. He tasted the salty flavour. He dug his hands into Sherlock's hips, signalling that it was time for Sherlock to move. Sherlock didn't waste a moment. He began thrusting his hips up and down, pounding in John's mouth. John managed not to choke, relishing in the sensation Sherlock brought him. Sherlock dug his hands in John's short hair, tugging and pulling, enhancing the sensation.

John loved it when he did this to Sherlock. When Sherlock became entirely incapable of speaking, thinking, anything apart from moving against John. The great Sherlock Holmes, completely disarmed by John's mouth.

Sherlock looked down and smiled when he saw that one of John's hands had made it's way to his own cock, moving up and down the shaft. Then he thrust in deep in John's mouth, John's eyes widening. Sherlock moaned as John's teeth grazed the sensitive skin. He felt himself coming almost over the brim. The sensation came from more sides, gathering at his cock. He felt it first in his head, toes and hands. The sensation strolled, danced, twisted and twirled up and down, moving slowly towards his cock, to John's mouth.

Suddenly, Sherlock couldn't hold back anymore. He let go, and he exploded in John's mouth. John's mouth filled with the warm liquid and he gulped it all up. Then his own hand moved one last time before Sherlock took over.

"I owe you one, dear." Sherlock's long, slender hands moved, trained, over John's cock, stroking and caressing, until John lost himself in the sensation.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John moaned. Sherlock's endless violin playing paid off. Sherlock's hands moved expertly up and down the shaft, rewarding John with a sensation that he'd never experienced before. It didn't take long before John exploded all over Sherlock's chest and face.

For a little while, John saw nothing but stars. Exploding stars. Then slowly, the stars formed to Sherlock's face, gazing at him intently. His face was covered in the thick liquid that had erupted from John.

John felt the need to apologize, but he couldn't find the words. Instead, he just gazed at him.

Sherlock was the first to speak.

"Well, I suppose we should, er, clean this up. I mean, you're blue, and I'm.. Well look at me." Sherlock grinned like a madman.

"I suppose we could share a shower. Saves water, you know." John pointed out.

"Yes, I suppose so." Sherlock smiled. "John."

"Yeah?"

"You're an idiot."

"I know. Oh, you can say it now."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."


End file.
